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Stone Song 

“He who does not join the dance, mistakes the dance... “
—Jesus, the Christ, fr.
The Apocryphal Acts of St. John

...Strange, to be a static fixture
in a rotating world, as if moored
to a rigging
without sails...this meadowland,
perhaps? To watch
as all the small things
the earth with their sutures—To wait, minus face or hands,
a patch of grass
to grow around me, as if
I could defend myself against
the rain. It is the sun,
I know, who laughs from her perch
as she heeds me, guarded
by her clouds & constellations;
&., without so much as a tongue
to wag at her,
I rest
in my unrest here below,
gathering nothing more
than my own consternation;
Lichen could be a friend, but
she blocks my pores and
makes them blind; & the spider,
many-legged, mocks me
with movement,
flaunting the knees that beg for,
too much time spent wishing
that they were mine. But,
shower or sunshine,
I must be content
to remain here as I am—
a thing cold & stony,
without so much as
a leg to stand on,
or even enough sense
to be lonely.

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  • Reader submitted poetry.


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